


Bokeh

by cagedchaos



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Secret Santa 2016, and not enough fluff, way too much time leaping to be acceptable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9016189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagedchaos/pseuds/cagedchaos
Summary: Wu Yifan does not like Christmas parties, and running into a familiar face from 15 years ago is certainly not helping.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Soapbubblesoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soapbubblesoul/gifts).



> You already know how much I want to apologize for this massacre, but I'M STILL SOSOSO SORRY D; I tried to fluff, I really did :| Also, you know how awful I am with smut too, so :| Anyway, this is late cus I didn't know about the whole Dec24 thing, but I hope you (kinda) enjoy it anyway?? >.< (runs and hides under a rock)
> 
> Also, disclaimer: I am shit at art and don't know what I'm talking about.

Yifan jumps at the sound of another champagne bottle being popped open, frowning when he locates the source and the cascading fountain of bubbling fluid that follows. He tries to hide the roll of his eyes by excusing himself from his current company with the excuse of needing to go to the bathroom. When he’s around the corner of the bar, halfway to the restroom, he checks behind him to verify he’s alone before he puts down his glass of cola on the bar counter with a relieved sigh. Ducking under the flip up portion of the counter, he finds a place in a corner to squat, pulling out his phone from his pocket for an acceptable distraction.

"Uhm, sir, you can't be back here."

Yifan looks up in shock, face red at being caught hiding. "Just give me five minutes?” he pleads at up at the restaurant employee, hoping that the other will recognize his face enough to grant him this much needed break.

The bartender (his name tag reads Baekhyun) raises an eyebrow and ends up rolling his eyes, “Fine, five minutes,” he mutters, hands busy pouring a beer.

“Hey!” Yifan looks up from his game of  _ Candy Crush _ and scowls when he recognizes his manager leaning over the bar counter and peering down at him to yell, “I thought we agreed to at least three hours, Yifan.”

The model scowls, upset that he hasn’t even used three of the five minutes that Baekhyun has granted him. He begrudgingly takes the offered hand and pulls himself to his feet. Kevin Shin glares at him with a beer bottle in his hand, shaking his head. Yifan ignores the look as he brushes off the back of his pants and leaps over the counter to join his manager who grabs the model down by his red and green checkered tie so that he can get at the hair. Yifan rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away; he knows that Kevin has no qualms about using physical force to get the model to do what he wants (he already managed to get Yifan in that terrible tie). Yifan’s had it though, when his manager licks his fingers and moves to reach into Yifan’s hair again, “Okay, that’s enough,” he asserts, though he doubts Kevin can hear him over the music so he swats at the latter’s hand with a scowl to get his message across. Kevin frowns at the response but releases Yifan all the same, taking a moment to straighten the creases he’s made in the shirt before pushing Yifan towards the rest of the employees of his agency.  

Yifan sighs again once he’s free of Kevin, but he’s too late to sidestep Jessica Jung, who grabs the just-released tie with a giggle. She holds up a sprig of mistletoe above their heads and grins before pulling him in for a kiss, “Merry Christmas, Yifan!” she chirps before letting go with a wink.

Yifan offers a half hearted smile, “Right, you too, Jess,” he returns before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the taste of beer.  She waves a goodbye as she threads an arm through her sister’s, picking up a glass of eggnog off the tray of the closest waiter. Yifan shakes his head as he watches the sister walk away, trying to keep his focus away from how little they were wearing aside from the identical red and white hats on their heads.

Taking a deep breath, the model lets it out slow, blowing it up at his fringe as he looks for another corner to hide in. He doesn’t like his agency’s yearly Christmas parties, never has, but Kevin always makes him attend and this year’s is at a restaurant-slash-bar called ‘24’. He glances to the left, cringing at the sight of the DJ under strobing lights. “Nope,” he grumbles, turning his attention to the opposite side of the restaurant where tables have been pushed together to form a buffet of assorted finger foods. Someone dressed in white is standing in front of the table, replacing an empty plate with one topped with cupcakes sprinkled with red, white and green sprinkles visible from where Yifan stands, even under the poor lighting.

Yifan eyes the cloth hanging off the tables and a grin starts to form when he notes the edges brush along the floor. “Perfect,” he decides and immediately makes for the buffet table, worried that if he waits any longer, Kevin might catch him and haul him to the dancefloor by the ear. He turns around again as he nears the table, letting out a relieved sigh when he finds Kevin busy talking to one of the other models under his management. Too distracted by this stroke of luck, he doesn’t notice the brunette before he’s collided with him. “Oh, sorry,” he murmurs, holding his arms out to balance the other as he turns to glance back to check that Kevin is still distracted.

When Yifan realises that the other person hasn’t stepped aside, he finally looks down, pulling his arms back to himself and raising his eyebrows at the startled look on the stranger’s face. “Do I… know you?” he asks out loud, trying to figure out why this stranger seems  _ familiar _ . He eyes the black and white uniform; perhaps Yifan had seen the guy at another catered event? Another restaurant? His eyebrows stitch together and he forgets he still has a hand on either side of the shorter brunette until the latter shrugs them off and shoots him a glare before spinning on his heel and heading for the kitchen. “Hey, wait!” he calls as he chases after the man, door throwing open with a loud bang that has every head in the kitchen turn towards him.

“Excuse me,  _ sir _ , you can’t be in here.” the brunette says flatly when Yifan finds him, arms crossed and still sending Kris a scathing look.

Yifan ignores the looks he gets from the kitchen staff as he racks his brain for any connection he might have with this stranger, “I don’t know you, do I?”

The other raises a single eyebrow before rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in exasperation, walking away. “ _ Typical, _ ” he mutters under his breath but loud enough for Yifan to catch.

“‘Typical’? So we  _ have _ met before? Where?” Yifan asks, following behind the other and trying to ignore how half of the employees are still staring in disbelief. He nearly trips over himself trying to stop when the almost-familiar man spins around abruptly.

“You really don’t remember?” he narrows his eyes at Yifan who continues to stand, baffled further by the way all the employees snap back to their tasks with a single glare from this familiar man; he obviously ran this kitchen, but Yifan didn’t recall knowing any restaurant owners.

“Kris! What did we  _ just _ talk about?!” Kevin’s voice bellows out from somewhere behind Yifan and the latter groans at having been found so quickly; he really should’ve just hidden under that table cloth when he had the chance. “Look, I know you hate it, but can’t you at least  _ pretend _ to enjoy yourself? Those are important people out there, potential new contracts! Where’s that winning smile of yours?”

Yifan gives the stranger a last glance before letting out a long sigh and turning around to join Kevin. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. No need to get your knickers in a bunch.” He’s halfway to the kitchen door before the familiar stranger’s voice calls three simple words after him.

“High school graduation.”

Yifan’s head snaps around at the name, eyes narrowing as he studies the other again. “What did you just say?” The brunette’s jaw clenches as Yifan finally recognizes the brown of the eyes, the dimple as he smiles twistedly. ‘ _ It can’t be _ ,’ he thinks to himself as he tries to imagine the same face but rounder and fifteen years younger. He feels the colour drain from his face and a shiver down his back and a name finally tumbles breathlessly from his lips, “Zhang Yixing.”

“Remember me now?”

 

~*~

 

Yifan stood in front of the mirror hanging off his closet door, frowning at his reflection. Sixty-seven runway walks, and here Kris Wu was, nervous for the first day back at  _ high school _ . “Ridiculous,” Yifan grumbled to himself as he reached up to brush at a stray hair (newly dyed back from a platinum blond to a more natural dark brown), letting out a long sigh when it didn’t seem to fix anything. He pulled at the tie around his neck, trying to remember if it had been this uncomfortable when he’d first pulled on the cursed thing four years ago as a freshman. His arm itches and he claws at it through the rough semi-synthetic fabric of his dress shirt, having been used to modelling softer natural fabrics for the past year; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d put on anything with  _ polyester _ in it.  Recognizing that no amount of pulling on his shirt would fix how awful it sat on his frame, he retrieved the atrocious purple blazer off its hanger, cringing further when he sees himself in the lime green trim. He gives his hair a last brush through with his shaking fingers, and grabs the prescriptionless glasses off his dresser, its only purpose to try to conceal his identity.

“Wu Yifan! You’re going to be late!” his mother’s muffled voice called from the other side of his bedroom door.

With another disappointed sigh at his reflection, he grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder and headed downstairs and straight out the front door, opting to skip breakfast for the sake of the butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach. He tossed his bag into the back seat before clambering behind the wheel, finally relaxing a little when he popped in his favourite CD into the console.

By the time Yifan reached his high school, his nerves had settled enough that he didn’t feel like throwing up at the sight of the grey brick establishment, still as unwelcoming as when he last saw it over a year ago. He rummaged through his bag for his schedule, unfolding it and trying to flatten the page against his leg as he started up the front steps to the school’s looming front doors. “Right. First period. Calculus.  Room 224,” he read out loud with more confidence than he really felt. He stepped through the front doors and paused, eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to recall which way to go, all while repeating ‘two twenty-four’ under his breath.

“Left at the crossroads and then take another left once you’re at the top of the stairs.”

Yifan turned around at the new voice, raising a curious eyebrow, “Oh, uhm, thanks,” he muttered, an unexpected blush rising into his cheeks, embarrassed that he needed help finding his class as a senior.

“If you want, we can head there together. Looks like we’re in the same homeroom.” The chubby brunet held out his own schedule to prove his point.

“Uhm sure?” Yifan grumbled, unsure how to respond; he hadn’t expected much friendship this year, given that all of Yifan’s original classmates had graduated a couple months earlier while he had spent his senior year working instead.

“Are you new here? I don’t know you, and I know everyone in our year, I mean I have to, it’s my job as year rep…” he trailed before narrowing his eyes at Yifan, “You  _ do _ look familiar though…”

Yifan dropped his head and started fiddling with his glasses, clearing his throat uncomfortably and starting towards the direction he’d been pointed in when his unnamed informant stared at him too long for his comfort. “Erm, I’m not exactly new here,” he started, trying to direct the conversation away from the potential revelation of his modelling identity. “I was supposed to graduate last year, but I… had stuff to do so I wasn’t here,” he supplied simply, not wanting to reveal the true explanation for his absence.

“Oh, okay. Well, I’m Zhang Yixing, senior grade representative,” the brunet greeted with a winning smile that brought one to Yifan’s face too.

“Uhm, Wu Yifan, regular guy?” Yifan returned, though with noticeably less gusto, stumbling through the name a little, having gotten used to introducing himself as Kris Wu for the last year.  

Yixing smiled again, inviting Yifan to step through the classroom door first. “Well, regular guy Wu Yifan, pick a spot! It’s a new year, so why not start fresh?”

  
  
  


“So,” Yifan hesitated, trying the words in his head before he voices them to his friend, “uhm,” he filled awkwardly, eyes averting and fingers wringing together.

“What’s got  _ you _ all worked up?” Yixing asks from the couch in Yifan’s living room, voice garbling behind the lollipop he hasn’t taken out of his mouth before speaking. “And don’t glare,” he added without looking up, anticipating the look Yifan was wearing now, “It’ll give you wrinkles. Scowling won’t help either.”

Yifan tore a blank page out of his math notebook and crumpled it into a ball before launching it at Yixing from his spot at the kitchen table. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Yixing spun around on the couch, dramatically rubbing the back of his head with one hand and holding his stick of candy with the other, “Hey! It’s not my fault your facial expressions are predictable! See?” he pointed, laughing when Yifan scowled.

Yifan narrowed his eyes, growling low in his throat which only made Yixing laugh louder. “Shut  _ up _ !” he bit out, throwing his pencil at Yixing next.

Yixing caught the pencil with his free hand, sticking the candy back into his mouth, “What were you going to say then?” he garbled, getting up from the couch and wandering over to take a seat across the table from Yifan. He placed the pencil back on top of Yifan’s notebooks, propping his chin up in his hand with an interested expression. “I’m all ears.”

Yifan swallowed hard, ears burning at suddenly having Yixing stare at him so eagerly. “Uh, Amber?”

“As in Amber Liu? The grade 11 rep? What about her?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s the one,” Yifan confirmed, clearing his throat and fingers tapping nervously on his homework, “What do you think about her?”

Yixing raised an eyebrow, “She’s alright....,” he said before narrowing his eyes at Yifan, suspicious, “Why?”

“I, uh, I might’ve asked her to the Christmas party at Kibum’s next weekend,” Yifan fumbled, ending the statement more like a question.

“Was that a question?” Yixing grinned, always having taken pride at Yifan’s intonation problems.

Yifan rolled his eyes, “I asked her to Kibum’s Christmas party,” Yifan tried again, with a deliberate effort to end the statement properly.

“And… what am I supposed to do with that information?” Yixing prompted, looking bored as he studied his lollipop.

Yifan sighed at Yixing’s obvious attempt to drag Yifan’s real intention out of him, “What do you think?”

“Of what?”

Yifan growled, dangerously close to throwing something again, “Of Amber? Of me asking her out?  _ Anything _ ?!”

Yixing laughed, clearly enjoying his success at getting Yifan riled up. “What am I supposed to say? She’s alright, I suppose. A little young for you though, don’t you think?”

“Young? She’s only a year younger than you.”

“Yeah, but that makes her  _ two _ years younger than  _ you _ .”

Yifan rolled his eyes, “Is that all you can offer?”

Yixing shrugged, waving his candy at Yifan before sticking it back in his mouth. “Dunno what you want me to say here, Fanfan.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Hardly. How’d you like it if I called you Xingxing?!”

Yixing shrugged, “Enh. I don’t mind it.”

Yifan scowled, filing away the knowledge to never use ‘Xingxing’ as a nickname. “Okay, but seriously. About Amber. Do you think the guys would be okay with it?”

“Does it really look like I care what those idiots think?”

Yifan frowned. Admittedly, his friendship with Yixing seemed odd to his other friends (though they mainly assumed the two only talked because Yifan always needed help with his homework), but never to Yifan. Yixing had been there on his first day back to this high school and he’d been there every day since. It had just been natural for the two to fall into an easy friendship.

“You  _ do _ realise that they only like you because you can buy them booze, right?” Yixing continued, kicking Yifan in the shin under the table when he realised that the older’s mind had travelled off to somewhere unseen.

“Yeah?” Yifan shoots back with a kick of his own that met the chair leg when Yixing dodged skillfully, “And what do  _ you _ like me for?” he growled as he reached down to rub his throbbing toes.

Yixing laughs in his typical way, echoing in the empty house and through Yifan’s bones, “Well, the great candy, of course!” he announces, matter-of-fact, gesturing with his lollipop and adding a playful wink before getting to his feet and heading back to the couch.

“She’s cute, right?” Yifan asked, making Yixing turn around to face him once more.

“Are you asking  _ me _ ?” the younger asked, crossing his arms with a look of incredulity. “ _ You’re _ the one who asked her out, do  _ you _ think she’s cute?”

“Well,” Yifan hesitated, “Yeah, of course, but I wanted to know what  _ you  _ thought.”

“What’s it matter what  _ I _ think?” Yixing asked, eyebrows raised.

“ _ Would you just answer the damn question, Zhang Yixing _ ?!” Yifan hollered, glad that there was no one else in the house to hear him raise his voice.

“Okay, okay,” Yixing held his hands up on either side of his head as if surrendering, “Sure, sure.”

“‘Sure’? Really? Is that the best you can do?”

Yixing rolled his eyes and settled back into the couch, “You care too much what other people think, Yifan. Amber’s great, okay? Quit worrying what the guys’ll think,” he grumbled, pages rustling as he turned his back to Yifan.

“What are you doing over there anyway?” Yifan asked, getting to his feet at the bid of his curiosity, glad that his toes had recovered from the rude impact with the kitchen chair.

“Uh… just… math?” Yixing replied, though his hesitation made it obvious that he wasn’t doing anything even remotely related to math.

Yifan’s eyes narrowed into slits and, keeping as quiet as he could, (avoiding that one spot where the hardwood creaked), he tiptoed his way over to the couch where Yixing sat hunched over the coffee table. He crossed his arms on the back of the couch, peeking around the other at the mess of pictures scattered across the table. “Doesn’t look like math to me,” he mused out loud, making Yixing jump with a high pitched yip, much to his enjoyment.

Yixing hurried to brush everything into a folder, slamming it shut and then turning to glare at Yifan, red in the face. “What the hell, Wu Yifan?!”

“You said you were doing math, and that’s very not math,” Yifan laughed, pulling back from the couch to lean back against one of the kitchen table chairs. “Well?” he prompted when Yixing didn’t volunteer an explanation.

“Why are you so nosy?”

“Why are  _ you _ so secretive about it?”

Yixing groaned, “Okay,  _ fine _ .” He turned away from Yifan once more, signaling for the other to join him on the couch. “I like taking pictures okay? Mostly candid portraits,” he admitted with a defeated sigh, moving over to make room on the couch for Yifan.

“And you felt the need to hide that because…?” Yifan asked, picking up one of the photographs that Yixing had once again taken out of the file folder and spread across the table.

Yixing shrugged, “I’m not very good.”

“I respectfully disagree,” Yifan commented, studying one taken of one of their fellow classmates, Irene, sitting on casually on one of the sets of stairs that led towards the school, a vibrant laugh almost coming out of the photo as she tried to tuck away the hair blowing in the wind. “It’s not bad at all. How come you never told me?”

Yixing raised an eyebrow, “Why would I have to tell you?”

Yifan open and closed his mouth; perhaps it was only him who thought that the two had become close friends since their first encounter in the hallway.

Yixing laughed at the reaction, “The opportunity just never came up, and it’s not exactly like I’m any good at it, so why share?”

Yifan frowned, “No, you’re great at it! I don’t get why you have to hide this!”

Red flooded up into Yixing’s cheeks again, but he managed a laugh, “Well, I appreciate it, but you kinda have to say that as my friend, don’t you?”

“Well, I’ve worked with a bunch of professional photographers, so it’s not like my opinion isn’t…” Yifan trailed off, noticing the look on Yixing’s face and then realising what he’d just said, “Uhm…” he hummed,  _ his _ turn to go red in the face.

“What did you just say? You’ve worked with professional photographers?” Yixing asked, incredulous.

“Uh…,” Yifan fumbled, setting the photos down and getting to his feet, hand on the back of his neck as his mind went blank about how to cover up this slip up. He’d kept his reasons for finishing high school late and he didn’t want a revelation about his career change the way the students treated him; he just wanted to be a normal teenager for a year.

“Yifan?”

“You know I’m a year older than you, right?” Yifan started, mentally berating himself when he heard himself ask the question; of course Yixing knew, Yifan had disclosed his age during their first week in school.

Yixing rolled his eyes, “Well, duh.”

“I never told you why,” Yifan started, waiting for a verbal acknowledgement that never came. “Well, I, uh, I was working.”

Yixing’s expression remained expectant and Yifan suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Swallowing uncomfortably, Yifan crossed and uncrossed his arms on his chest, trying to figure out the best way to form his next sentence. His gaze flickered between Yixing and the pile of photos still sitting on his coffee table. Without another word, he dashed out of the living room, ignoring the alarmed and confused look on Yixing’s face.

“Wu Yifan?!”

“I’ll be back!” Yifan shouted back, taking the steps to two at a time until he was finally in his bedroom. It took him three long steps to get to his bookshelf off which he started to pull catalogues off until he found the one he was looking for.

“BWCW Summer 2001? What am I supposed to do with this?” Yixing asked when Yifan made it back downstairs (cursing when he nearly missed a step on the way) and handed the younger the catalogue.

Yifan rolled his eyes and grabbed the book back to himself, dropping into the couch beside Yixing and fanning through the pages until he found what he was looking for. Thumb keeping the page open, he thrust the book back at Yixing who was still wearing a bewildered expression. Yifan rolled his eyes, jabbing at the page to get Yixing to look at it.

“What am I looking at….?” Yixing trailed, squinting at the page as he brought it closer, “Wait…”

Yifan got to his feet again, pacing the length of the room as he waited impatiently for Yixing to get to his conclusion, chewing on his thumb nail, wondering if that was the best picture he could’ve found for this revelation. Wasn’t that pose a little too unnatural? Was he wearing too much make-up in that shot?

“You… have a twin brother?” Yixing piped up, looking up at Yifan with a raised eyebrow.

Yifan stopped pacing, disbelief written all over his features as he turned to face Yixing, “ _ That _ ’s your conclusion?!” he all but yelled.

Yixing stared back at him with a blank expression that drew a long groan out of Yifan when he realised he’d failed to make his point. His groan only deepened when Yixing started to grin, “Oh, you should’ve seen the look on your face, I wish I had my camera.”

“You little piece of shit,” Yifan bit out, taking a step forward again and grabbing the closest cushion to bring it down on Yixing’s head repeatedly.  

“Ow, ow, ow!” Yixing exclaimed dramatically past the candy, taking the book in his hand and using it to swat at Yifan in retaliation.

“Hey!” Yifan shoved the cushion in Yixing’s face a last time, grabbing the catalogue out of the other’s hands and checking the pages, frowning when he found a crease right down the length of his shot; yes, this  _ was _ the shoot where he’d been sporting that awful hair style,  _ of course it was _ .

“Oh, whatever,  _ Kris Wu _ ,” Yixing rolled his eyes, throwing the cushion back at Yifan and blowing the hair out of his eyes. “I’ve seen better anyway.”

Yifan scowled again, his turn to use the catalogue as a weapon, stopping only when he realised what Yixing had said. “Wait, what did you just say?”

“‘I’ve seen better anyway’,” Yixing repeated, setting the cushions straight on the couch.

“No, before that, what did you call me?”

“Uh, Kris…” Yixing answered uneasily, pausing in the middle of fluffing.

“I didn’t tell you that… how did you know it?”

Yixing shrugged and turned back to gather his pictures into the folder again, gesturing at the book still in Yifan’s hand without looking up, “It was in the corner somewhere.”

Yifan raised an eyebrow, looking down to where his finger was still holding the place of his photo, and found his alias listed nowhere on the page. He dropped the book open on the table in front of Yixing, keeping his silence as he crossed his arms and waited for Yixing to admit his mistake.

“Okay,  _ fine _ , I already knew, okay? But you didn’t seem to want to make that public knowledge so I just played along,” Yixing shrugged.

“When’d you find out?”

“Uh, I dunno, a week after school started? I was just trying to study up on photography techniques, I wasn’t looking for dirt on you or whatever.”

Yifan sighed, wondering why Yixing would offer to keep his secret without being asked. If their roles had been reversed, Yifan would have likely confronted Yixing the moment he’d found out. He watched Yixing tuck the folder back into his bag and kick his feet up on the table casually, television remote in hand. With a relieved sigh, he nudged Yixing with a foot to make room for him and and fell into the couch, a smile forming as he dropped the catalogue at his feet; Yifan hadn’t needed to be worried because there was no way Yixing would expose him for being Kris.

  
  
  


Yifan opened his locker to a ripped piece of paper taped to the top shelf with Yixing’s familiar scrawl: ‘ _ Hey, come to the art room after school’. _ He glared at it for a moment before tearing it off with a grumble; he was really starting to regret that one day he stayed home sick and needed Yixing to grab notes from his locker. With a long sigh, he pushed aside Yixing’s stack of textbooks to make room for his own. “I really need to get a new lock,” Yifan muttered under his breath to himself as he sorted through Yixing’s mess to find what he needed, shoving the books into his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. He pulled Yixing’s sweater off one of the hooks to grab his own, replacing the former before he slammed the metal door shut with a shake of his head, crumpling the note in his hand and tossing it in the nearest garbage can.

“Zhang Yixing!” he bellowed into the classroom as soon as he’d thrown open the door, “My locker is not-!” he paused in mid-tirade when he realised that the only person in the room was a familiar looking girl that Yifan can’t remember the name of. “Uhm, sorry, I’m looking for someone?” Yifan tried instead, letting out a sigh of relief when the girl’s only response to the outburst was to roll her eyes before gesturing behind her, “He’s back there,” she muttered as she gathered her things and wormed around Yifan to leave.

Yifan opened his mouth to express his thanks, only to close it again when he realised he was now the only left in the room. Slightly perplexed, he wandered towards the back where the girl had gestured to, nose crinkling when all he could find was the wall and the strange rounded black protrusion in its center. “Must be some kid’s weird project,” he mused, crossing his arms and studying it in an effort to understand what exactly made  _ this _ art.

“Hey,” Yixing’s voice greeted, making Yifan yelp sharply and jump back a step when the shorter appeared in front of him as though magically. When Yifan failed to return the greeting, only widening his eyes and cocking his head to the side to look around Yixing, the younger waved an arm in front of his face, “Oy, you still with me?” Yixing asked, snapping his fingers a couple times until Yifan blinked out of his tranced state.

“What are you doing standing in a black tube and jumping out at people?! Do you make it a habit of scaring the living daylights out of people?” Yifan exclaimed, attempting to cover up his own embarrassment by taking it out on Yixing.

Yixing laughed, “Frankly, if I’d known you’d be this rattled, I’d have done it sooner.”

Yifan had to bit his lip to keep himself from saying something rude, and the action only drew a more raucous cackle from Yixing. The shorter grabbed the reluctant older and pulled him into the tube with him, “It’s a door, you idiot. Have you never seen a darkroom before?!”

Yixing reached out to pull on something Yifan couldn’t see and a second later, the model found himself shrouded in darkness, a suspicious low grinding sound making Yifan step back, his bag hitting something solid that hadn’t been there before, “Oh god, this is where you kill me, isn’t it?” he joked, trying hard not to let his fear show as he looked around, seeing nothing in the darkness. “You leave me cryptic messages in my locker so you can get me to go to your lair where you chop me up and put me in separate garbage bags. Five months from now, cops are going to find my remains in ten different places, aren’t they? You’re going to break my mother’s heart.”

“Wow, Yifan. You, uh… you’ve got quite the imagination, don’t you?” Yixing remarked, sarcasm thick on his mocking tone as he tugged Yifan into a room dimly lit in red.

Yifan blinked a couple times before trying to widen his eyes to help them get used to the darkness, “No, seriously, Yixing, are you going to kill me, because I’m too pretty to die.”

Yixing gave him a smart smack in the chest with the back of his hand for the narcissistic comment before stepping out of the doorway, “Have you really never been in a darkroom before?” he asked, using the unfamiliar term again.

“A what now?” Yifan asked, stepping out behind Yixing once he’d gotten used to the lighting. “Is that what you call the slaughterhouse?”

“Would you please stop it with the bad murder jokes?” Yixing pleaded and Yifan could swear he could almost hear the roll of his eyes. “It’s where you develop film, you idiot. Seriously, how can you model for pictures and not know where they get printed? Though, I suppose you’d be more used to the digital prints,” he mused.

Yifan was hardly listening to Yixing’s most recent tangent, stepping towards one corner of the room where there was a wire running along its length, clothespins holding up unfamiliar pictures, but all seemed to have the same photographer. “Did you take all these?” he asked out loud as he studied the scenery on one.

“Oh, that’s Chanyeol’s corner, I wouldn’t touch them if I were you. He’s very particular about his stuff,” Yixing explained, grabbing Yifan around the wrist and pulling him to the opposite corner that had a similar set-up to what he’d been staring at only a moment ago. Instead, an array of photographs that all exhibited Yixing’s familiar candid style hung at eye level and Yifan frowned when he noted that the majority of them were of him.

“What, you don’t have someone else to stalk?” Yifan joked, walking slowly along the wire, stopping at the last one where Yixing was grinning back at him, obviously holding the camera away from himself and snapping a shot of himself with Yifan lying asleep on the grass.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Yixing shot back, “You’re the one who volunteered to be a subject.”

Yifan rolled his eyes, “I didn’t volunteer to be put on display for just anyone to see. I don’t share that I’m Kris for a reason,” he scowled, still focused on the last picture where Yixing’s smile seemed too blinding in the darkness.  “Oh, and I also didn’t volunteer my locker to be your personal storage unit.”

“Naw, don’t worry. Everyone likes to head home early on Fridays so, luckily for them, they don’t have to suffer the eyesore that is Wu Yifan. Just me.” Yifan snapped around to glare at Yixing, though he wasn’t sure if the latter could even see it properly, so he added a growl for effect. “As for your locker,” Yixing continued, either not hearing the growl, or simply choosing to ignore it (Kris figured it was probably the second; Yixing had an annoying habit of ignoring Yifan), “It’s just so much closer to my classes than mine is. You don’t mind, right?”

“I mind that I have to dig through a pile of garbage to get to my own shit, Zhang Yixing,” he grumbled.

“You can have my locker if you want,” Yixing offered.

“No one wants your locker, it’s a kilometer out of the way from anything,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes and turning back to the picture of Yixing smiling. “When’d you take this one?” he asked, moving to unclip it, only to have Yixing grab his arm to stop him.

“Uh, I’d prefer if you didn’t touch them before they’re fully dried,” Yixing scolded, bring Yifan’s hand back to his side. “That one was just me seeing if the roll had any extra film left. You know, like most rolls do 24, but sometimes, you get a 25th?”

“Right, sure. So basically, you were just trying your luck with this one.” Yifan acknowledged, “I like how it turned out though,” he commented idly before turning around to face Yixing again. “Did you get me to come here so you can show me your shitty photos?” he asked, squinting at his watch.

“Actually, uh, no.”

Yifan had barely read that it was a quarter past three on his wrist before he realised how unusual it was that Yixing had answered his question so straight, with no retort about Yifan’s jest of Yixing’s skill. He crossed his arms and focused squarely (or as much as he could in this light) on Yixing instead, watching as him shifted on his feet, eyes downcast and thumbs disappearing into his sleeves as he fiddling with the fabric’s edge. Yifan hadn’t seen his best friend this worked up before, “What’s up?”

Yixing made a sort of humming sound to acknowledge that he’d heard Yifan but he did nothing to supplement, waiting a moment before heading straight for the door again, sliding it around before Yifan could react with anything more than a raised eyebrow before he moved to follow Yixing.

“What the hell is going on, Zhang Yixing?” Yifan asked as soon as he’d left the darkroom to find Yixing pacing the length of the art classroom.

It was another minute before Yixing finally stopped, though his nerves still revealed themselves in the way his foot tapped the vinyl flooring, “I need a favour,” he managed to get out.

Yifan rolled his eyes, “Well, just spit it out then,” he grumbled, grabbing the nearest chair and settling in it, kicking his feet up on the table in front of him so that he could rock back in his seat.

“Look, you don’t have to say yes, though it would mean a great deal to me if you did.”

Yifan stopped rocking, setting his chair back on all fours again, the same feeling of apprehension he’d felt in the darkroom when Yixing had first run away settling back into the pit of his stomach. “Seriously, what’s wrong, Yixing?”

Yixing lets out a long breath, closing his eyes a moment before he steps towards Yifan and puts the latter’s feet back on the ground so that he can take the seat across from him. “Nothing’s-nothing’s  _ wrong _ , per se. I just… I just need you to go on... a double date with me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Yifan balked, blinking a couple times as if it would help clarify what Yixing wanted from him. Of all things Yifan had braced himself for,  _ this _ was not one of them. He didn’t even know Yixing had found himself a girlfriend; why hadn’t Yixing told him sooner?

“You bring Amber, and we go grab pizza this weekend or something?” Yixing asked, his expression a strange mix of uncertainty and desperation.

“Okay, well, first,” Yifan started, sitting up straight, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend? Second, why is this stressing you out so much? And third, I kinda broke up with Amber a couple days ago, so a double date might be a problem.”

“You broke up with Amber?” Yixing asked, disbelief evident in his widened eyes.

“I said that was third,” Yifan snapped, eager not to discuss the topic. It’d only been a couple weeks since the Christmas party but going out with Amber wasn’t what Yifan had expected, it just didn’t feel right. Yixing flinched visibly and Yifan softened his tone again, “When were you going to tell me you got a girlfriend?”

Yixing shrugged sheepishly, “I dunno, today? Also, he’s not my girlfriend,” he added, looking back at Yifan with uncertain but expectant eyes.

“What do you mean he’s not your g-,” Yifan asked incredulously before he finally heard the words and realisation hit him. He paused, studying Yixing for a moment as the colour seemed to seep away from the younger’s face.  _ How could he have missed it? _ Given that so many of the people in his industry were gay, he found it appalling that he’d missed it in his own best friend. “Oh,” he supplied and then repeated himself with greater emphasis as his eyes widened, filling in the answer to his own question about Yixing’s anxious behaviour. “So that’s why you had nothing to say about Amber when I asked you last month,” he whispered, more to himself than to Yixing, whose blank expression reminded him he still needed to properly acknowledge the revelation. He cleared his throat, “Well, I’m glad at least one of us is in a happy relationship. Unless, of course, he’s a complete douchebag, in which case, you let me know so I can beat him up.”

Yixing’s shoulders seemed to relax as he let out a long breath and the colour returned to his cheeks, almost a blush, “No, of course not, Lu Han’s fine, he’s  _ great _ . I think you’d like him, he’s your age, actually.”

Yifan frowned, “My age? Where’d you meet this guy?”

“Uh, that photography class I take on the weekend. I told you about that right?” Yixing explained, getting back up and turning his back, suddenly finding the posters that hung on the wall there very interesting.

Yifan narrowed his eyes, “No, you didn’t actually.”

“Really?” Yixing asked, his voice higher than usual even as he tried (much too obviously, Yifan thought) to stay casual, “Could’ve sworn I did. You sure?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure, Yixing. And given how you’re avoiding looking at me right now, 200% sure. You seem to be hiding a lot of things from me these days,” Yifan accused, enjoying how the comment made Yixing freeze, “I’m really going to have to consider changing my lock,” he paused, grinning and expertly dodging the paintbrush Yixing launched at him, “Speaking of which, I swear to God, Yixing, if you start putting this  _ Lu Han _ ’s shit in  _ my  _ locker, we are so done.”

“Yeah? That’s what you said about my books. And my sweaters too,” Yixing retorted snarkily.

“Fine line you’re playing with here, Zhang,” Yifan warned with a glare that only earned him a laugh and another playful paintbrush in his direction.

“No, but seriously, you wanna grab a slice with me and Lu Han this weekend? He, uh,” Yixing fiddled with a third brush, finger running back and forth over the hairs. “He’s… I’m his first boyfriend and he’s still kinda uneasy about being in public with me so I thought a small group setting might be easier… I mean I get it, I was like that too, when I first...” he trailed, clearing his throat before bringing his monologue back to its original focus, “So? What do you say?

“He’s not  _ your _ first then?” Yifan blurted before realising that it was the wrong thing to be focusing on. A rosy blush bloomed across Yixing’s cheeks in a way that brought a smile to Yifan’s face. “I mean, yeah,” Yifan answered, “Sure. But you’re buying, right?”

  
  
  


Yifan tried hard to hold his gaze on Jessica across the table, even as she smirked, a playful challenge in her eye as the two waited for the person beside them to yell ‘Go!’. He held his hand as steady as he could keep it around the plastic red cup, even as the room started to  _ un _ steady around him.

“Ready to lose, you big baby?” Jessica asked, grinning widely when her sister laughed beside her.

“In your fucking dreams, Jess,” Yifan rolled his eyes, thankful when they were given the go ahead to he didn’t have to further indulge in her trash talk. It was already his seventh game of flip cup tonight and the fluid that he drained from the cup in seconds no longer tasted like anything. The cup landed face down on his first try and he threw his hands up in his victory over Jessica as Minho next to him picked up his drink. His loud burp was unheard amidst the cheering from the people around him and he joined them, encouraging Minho even as his first attempt had the cup landing on its side. Even as Stephanie had succeeded before his team’s finisher, Yifan continued to cheer, scowling at the taunting dance that the the girls across the table were doing, “I really shouldn’t have invited you guys tonight,” he hollers over the music only to have Krystal put her hand up to her ear.

“What?” she yelled, “Sorry, I can’t hear you over all our winning.”

Yifan rolled his eyes again, “Aren’t you too young to be drinking?” he mocked.

“Hey,” Stephanie cut in, “You’re just jealous she pounds beers better than your shit brothers over here.”

“Oh? Is that a challenge?” Minho piped up.

“Uh, no, actually. It’s a fact. We just kicked your asses,” Jessica pointed out, her tone matter-of-fact, “But I mean, if you're up for losing twice in a row  _ to girls _ , round 2, let’s go.”

“Oh, you are so on, Jess.  _ So on, _ ” Yifan accepted, handing his cup over for a refill and then reaching for his pocket where his phone had started to ring. Immediately recognizing the pixelated numbers on the screen, he stepped back, grabbing the closest arm and signalling for the classmate he couldn’t quite see to take his spot.

“Where you goin’? The trash can’s the other way!” Jessica called after him and Yifan rolled his eyes dramatically back at her before hitting the green button, bringing the small device up to his ear.

“Yixing! What’s up?” he asked loudly, using his free hand to cover the opposite ear when all he heard was a garbled whisper. “What was that?”

“I said, can you come outside?” Yixing answered, his voice small against Yifan’s ear. “I’m on your porch.”

“The door’s unlocked, just come in.”

“Can you just come out here?” Yixing asked again.

Even through his drunken haze, he couldn’t mistake the tiredness in Yixing’s voice, “Yeah, sure. I’ll be out in a sec,” he conceded, pushing a body out of his path as he shoved the phone clumsily back into the front pocket of his jeans.

Yifan found Yixing exactly where the latter had said he was, leaning against the railing and staring out at the street. “Where’s Lu Han?” Yifan asked, glancing around for the brunet that had seemed to always be attached to Yixing for the last couple of months, “Didn’t you two have that photography class tonight?” Yifan asked as he closed the front door behind him, noting that Yixing hadn’t turned around to greet him, his bag and camera on the ground beside him.

“Yeah,” Yixing said simply, answering only the second of the two questions and dropping his head to stare at his hands as he picked at his nails.

“What’s going on?” Yifan asked, taking a long stumbling stride to stand beside Yixing, who looked away purposely, but not before the model caught a glimpse of the ring of red around his eyes. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, voice dropping low as he blinked a couple times to focus whatever attention he could gather; maybe he shouldn’t have stolen that shot of vodka from - whose hand was it again? - on his way out to meet Yixing.

“Lu Han broke up with me,” Yixing finally announced after a moment of silence with nothing but the bass of the music on the other side of the front door pounding between them.

“Oh,” Yifan acknowledged, mirroring Yixing’s position, not sure what to say as he rested his elbows on the wooden railing.

“Yeah,” Yixing supplied, back to staring at his fingers.

“You need to me mess anyone up?”

Yixing gave a soft chortle at the offer, sending a wave of relief through Yifan; at least Yixing could still laugh. “No, it’s okay. Besides, wouldn’t want it to accidentally backfire on you - because it definitely will. Still need that face, don’t you?” he smiled, clearly trying to keep his tone light even as his eyes sparkled with a sheen of unshed tears.

Yifan resisted the temptation to fill the silence between them with a question on Yixing’s state; even if he wasn’t ‘okay’, Yixing would pretend he was. Instead, Yifan just stayed where he was, a unspoken assurance to Yixing that he was here for him.

“Wasn’t his fault, I suppose,” Yixing said after a beat, and Yifan was unsure if it was just to fill the silence but he kept quiet and let the other continue. “I mean, first relationships rarely work out. I knew this when  _ I  _ asked  _ him _ out, knowing full well that it’d probably end like this. Should’ve known, should’ve seen it. I was the same way. Unsure and needing of guidance,” he trailed before clearing his throat, a hand coming up to wipe at something on his face that Yifan didn’t catch. “Sorry,” he laughed shakily, “I’m a mess and you’re just trying to celebrate finally graduating.” He took a step back, straightening his posture and letting out a long breath as he swung his hands on either side of himself.

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” Yifan assured, grabbing Yixing’s arm closest to him as he turned to face him, “You never have to be sorry where I’m concerned, you know that right?”

“Yeah,” Yixing breathed with a shrug, pulling his arm back to himself turning back to stare at the road with a shiver even though it was t-shirt weather and Yixing was wearing a jacket.

“Hey,” Yifan started softly, clearing his throat, “Might be the alcohol talking right now, but I feel like you need a hug,” he announced. Yifan wasn’t the hugging drunk; that would be Kibum and that would be Jessica. Yifan was more the loud drunk, making jokes he probably wouldn’t find funny if was sober, but he pulled Yixing toward him anyway, giving the smaller no time to object before wrapping his long arms around drooping shoulders and resting his chin on top of the other’s head. It took a second before Yixing reacted, slowly reach up Yifan’s back to ball his fingers around the cloth, pressing up against Yifan’s chest with a soft hum that made Yifan tremble. He tightened his hold as a sniffle escaped the smaller and he pressed his eyes tightly shut, suddenly needing to concentrate to keep his breathing even with Yixing’s hair tickling his nose.

Yixing was the first to pull away, “Thanks. You smell disgusting by the way, how much did you have?” he joked with a crooked smile, reaching a hand up to wipe at his face again, drawing a frown from Yifan; he didn’t like it when Yixing cried, never has. His hand came up to grasp around Yixing’s, ‘ _ He looks so lonely _ ,’ Yifan thought to himself, an ache burrowing itself into his chest where Yixing had been only a moment ago. He didn’t like puffiness around Yixing’s eyes and he  _ hated  _ the forced smile on his lips, wanted so much to do something,  _ anything _ , to -

Before he could even think it, Yifan had closed the space between them, bending at the waist so that he could press his lips against Yixing’s.

For as long as Yifan could remember, he’d never had the time for a relationship, travelling from one photoshoot to the next, one runway to the next. ‘ _ You won’t look this way forever,’ _ had been the single thought he’d held onto for the last couple of years. It was also the reason he’d insisted on finishing high school; so many hopefuls and only so few could continue for years. Amber had been his first relationship, having finally slowed down to the pace of a regular teenager. His friends had all loved her and he couldn’t deny that she was fun, but in the two weeks he’d been with her, Yifan never felt quite right. When he’d finally ended it, Junmyeon had somehow convinced everyone that it was something to be envied, to not be ‘tied down’ to any one girl, something Yifan never denied, but never confirmed either.

Kissing Amber though, had felt  _ nothing _ like this. There’d been no pounding of his heart in his ears, no swelling in his chest, no yearning for  _ more _ . His hand came up to cup Yixing’s cheek, wiping away the fresh tears with a thumb and tasting them on his lips.

Yifan pulled away frantically when he realised that he was kissing Yixing,  _ he was kissing his best friend _ . His best friend who had just taken a small step forward to balance himself at Yifan’s sudden retreat. His best friend that had just broken up with his  _ boyfriend,  _ but had been kissing back anyway. His best friend who was  _ gay _ , Yifan reminded himself as he finally willed himself to turn around, running a shaky hand through his hair as his thoughts screamed at him in his head.

Yifan never thought about his sexuality, always assuming the norm as a child. He’d never tested it before Amber, and even when he’d been paired with Jessica for a promotion, he’d assumed his lack of attraction to her had been due to  _ professionalism _ . That kiss hadn’t been like  _ this _ .  He hadn’t felt like his chest was about to explode and while Jessica had tasted like a fruity lip balm, it hadn’t been nearly as sweet as  _ this _ .

“I’m sorry,” Yifan apologized, voice cracking as he turned around to face Yixing who was still wearing the same look of sheer alarm across his face that’s he’d been wearing since Yifan stepped out of the kiss. “I’m drunk,” he explained, though more outloud to himself than as an excuse for Yixing. “I’ve played way too many games of flip cup, and  _ definitely _ too much tequila. Yeah, tequila,” he assured himself. That had to be the reason; he’d never been attracted to Yixing before tonight, had he? ‘ _ No, of course not, it’s the tequila _ .’

Yifan shifted a little under Yixing’s continually perplexed gaze before the latter finally offered a small smile, “It’s okay,” he whispered.

“Did you… want to come in?” Yifan asked, desperate to change the topic, “I mean, I know you don’t like big parties, but a couple drinks might help you forget Lu Han?” Yifan offered, ‘ _ And my stupid mistake too,’ _ he added in his head.

“I doubt it, but yeah, I suppose I’ll have a few drinks, it’s my graduation too, remember?”

Yifan let out a relieved sigh to have Yixing converse as they normally did though Yifan could no longer meet the younger’s eye, gaze drifting down instead at the bags still sitting on the porch at his feet, “Wanna throw your stuff in my room? I’ve got it locked so you don’t have to worry about anyone stealing anything.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Yixing shouldered his bag, pulling the strap of his camera over his head before following behind Yifan.

Yifan threw on a smile he wasn’t sure he meant as he opened the front door to music that seemed much too loud now, and he pushed past unseen faces on his way to his room, never glancing back to make sure Yixing was still following. It wasn’t until he was halfway up the steps that he finally turned around and found himself alone on the steps. “Yixing?” he asked out loud as his eyes traced his path backwards until he found Yixing on his knees in the middle of his foyer, arms scrambling out in front of him to collect the contents of his bag that had somehow fallen out. Yifan started down the steps with the intention to help before he realised that those were  _ his _ pictures strewn across the tiles.

People had already started to turn their attention to the mess and Yifan’s breath got caught in his throat when Junmyeon bent down to pick up one of the photos, a sneer obvious on his features as he motioned for the music to be turned off. “What do we have here?” he asked, standing above Yixing.

Yixing didn’t offer any comment as he gathered the last of the pictures and pushed them into a folder as he got back to his feet, holding his hand out in front of him, voice calm when he finally opened his mouth, “Give that back, Kim Junmyeon.”

Junmyeon pulled the picture out of reach, stepping backwards out of reach as he pretended to focus on it, taking a sip from his plastic cup. “It’s not bad, really,” he commented, though his tone suggested he thought the exact opposite.

Yifan had always known the two never liked each other; Junmyeon openly mocked everyone in the student council for being ‘goody two shoes’ and Yixing never understood how Yifan could be friends with someone  _ so stupid _ . Yifan knew he should probably cut in, break up the confrontation before it escalated into something irreparable, but his body stayed motionless on the stairs, eyes fixed on the picture of himself laughing in Junmyeon’s hand.

An uneasy feeling made itself home in the pit of Yifan’s stomach as he watched, frozen to the spot as the house started to spin around him. Vision blurring, he tried to recognize the person who grabbed the camera from around Yixing’s neck. As its owner reached for his precious equipment, the folder flew out of his arms, its contents fluttering to the floor once more. Yifan had almost made it through a whole year undiscovered, was he really going to be found out now? He was leaving in two days, couldn’t the world have waited  _ two days _ before revealing who he was?

Junmyeon looked down at the pictures now spread around him on the floor, half face down but the other half all revealing Yifan in different poses. “What are you, a  _ stalker _ ?” Junmyeon asked, his voice no longer joking and he made a point of stepping on one of the shots.

Yixing narrowed his eyes, “Mind your own goddamned business.”

“Yifan is my friend, so it  _ is _ my goddamn business if you're his creepy-ass stalker.”

“I’m not his stalker.”

“Then what?” Junmyeon pressed, taking an intimidating step forward that send Yixing stumbling backwards. “ _ Are you in love with him? _ ”

“Of course not,” Yixing answered immediately, his tone suggesting that he thought Junmyeon was being ridiculous before he glanced up at Yifan.

Something invisible pierced into Yifan’s chest as his eyes met Yixing’s and found… pity? An apology? His jaws clenched as he looked away; did Yixing think he was in love with him because Yifan had kissed him? He’d already explained it was because he’d been drinking;  _ he wasn’t in love with Yixing. _ There was just no way.

“Are you saying that Yifan  _ knew  _ about these pictures then?” Junmyeon asked, incredulous.

Yixing opened his mouth to answer but clamped his mouth shut again, looking up to Yifan again as if to say, ‘ _ It’s  _ your _ secret to tell.’ _ Junmyeon followed his gaze up to Yifan, bringing the rest of the audience to stare up at Yifan who was starting to find it hard to breathe. The rotten scent of tequila mixed with vodka mixed with gin mixed with rum wafted up at him in a nauseating wave and the taste of bile in the back of his throat threatened a gag.

_ He wasn’t in love with Yixing _ .

“Well?” Junmyeon prompted.

_ He wasn’t in love with Yixing _ .

“Did you know?”

_ He wasn’t in love with Yixing. _

“I-” Yifan started, eyes flicking back to Yixing who looked up at him expectantly.

_ He wasn’t in love with Yixing. _

“I don’t know,” he muttered finally, looking away with jaw clenched.

“You’re disgusting,” was all Yifan heard Junmyeon say before the sound of something getting thrown onto the floor and shattering hit his ears and he turned around to see what it was.

Junmyeon had already stepped away, shaking his head as the music resumed but Yifan hardly saw him, focused instead on the image of Yixing surrounded by black and red shards of plastic, a roll of film exposed at his feet. The owner hadn’t made a single move to clean, staring up at Yifan, eyes wide and red. ‘ _ Why?’ _ they asked.

_ He wasn’t in love with Yixing. _

_ Right? _

His stomach lurched and Yifan finally turned, running up the steps and practically falling through the bathroom door to empty his dinner into the toilet, the bitter taste of bile and beer on his tongue bringing up a second bout and then another until there was nothing left. He sat back on the cold tile, leaning against the wall with closed eyes, breathing hard as he wiped the back of a hand across his lips. His head swam and it was an effort to stand at the sink, harder still to get the key out from his pocket and damn near impossible to unlock his bedroom door.

Yifan fell face first into his bed, whining as he reached blindly for a pillow to drag under his throbbing head, curling his fingers into the silk. The party downstairs carried on without him but Yifan hardly cared; he welcomed sleep, even though closing his eyes meant seeing the disappointed look on Yixing’s face right before he turned away.

 

~*~

 

“Come on, let’s go,” Kevin grumbles, dragging a stumbling Yifan out of the kitchen where the latter finally collapses in one of the chairs, eyes wide and hands shaking.

“Of course, how could I miss it?!” Yifan says to himself as he stares at the closed kitchen door, eyes unseeing as the events of so many years ago unfolded before him. He’d kept himself busy every moment since his greatest regret and after so long, he’d finally managed to tuck the incident away, pretending it hadn’t happened, that it wasn’t the reason he didn’t drink anymore.

There was a pop of yet another bottle of champagne, a chorus of cheers erupting around Yifan as he bent over, burying himself under his arms as he resisted the urge to throw up his dinner.

“Hey, quit hiding, Kris. Go grab a juice from the bartender and pretend you’re having fun. It’s called  _ mingling _ , Kris. You still owe me another hour.” Yifan looked up to shoot Kevin a dirty look, only to have his manager return a warning finger. “I’m not going to ask again.”

Yifan groaned, what was the point of being an in demand model who had several famous designers on speed dial on his phone when he still had to take orders about how to act at parties from Kevin? He yells a couple obscenities after his manager but Kevin only shakes his head as he continues to walk away.

“Champagne?” one of the waitresses asks, holding out the tray towards Yifan with a smile.

Instinctively, Yifan holds up a hand to decline, but with a glance towards the kitchen again, he picks up the nearest glass and drains it, grabbing the waitress around the elbow to hold her back when she moves to the next table. Yifan places the empty flute back on the tray with a little more force than he’s intended, repeats the action with another before grabbing a glass in each hand and stepping back, smiling at the alarmed waitress and mouthing a quick ‘thanks’ as he set the flutes down on the table, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. He let out another long sigh before shooting the kitchen door another glance, contemplating confronting Yixing, but what would he say? Yifan needs to explain himself, or at least make it up to Yixing now that he’s found him again. He knows how stupid he’d been to have just left their friendship the way it was that night but he has no idea how to fix it now, fifteen years later.

The model checks his watch again: fifty-seven minutes until it will have been three hours since he arrived (practically dragged along) with Kevin. He plasters a practiced smile on his face and drains another of the flutes before clearing his throat, standing straight as he trades the empty glass with the full flute and starts towards the closest group of people.

The moment the alarm on his phone goes off, Yifan excuses himself from his current company, grabs his jacket and scarf from the coat check counter and leaves the suffocating establishment without a second glance. His phone rings a couple times with texts from Kevin and while he doesn’t send a reply, Yifan chuckles at the one that asks the model why he’s suddenly so great with time and that he should consider applying this new skill to being on time for his future appointments. He makes straight for his apartment two blocks away, shivering as he runs the distance with his scarf nearly choking him as it flapped behind him. He doesn’t even bother taking off his shoes at his front door before he busies himself with sifting through the boxes in his bedroom closet. It doesn’t take him long to find what he is looking for and he grabs the closest gift bag (green and red) to put the items in. He’s back through the front door before five minutes has passed since he opened it last.

When he gets back to the restaurant though, he paces at its front door, reluctant to face the crowd inside again. Deciding that he’ll wait until the crowd thins, Yifan heads to the coffee shop across the street, glad that there aren’t many customers  _ there _ . He orders a black coffee, declining the barista’s suggestion for something ‘more festive’, before taking a seat in front of the window, waiting and watching the party finally die down. He stays seated in the coffee shop until he sees the lights dim in the restaurant across the street before he gets up and crosses the road once more, wishing the messy-haired barista an early Merry Christmas and expressing his appreciation for letting him stay for so long.

Yifan practically runs towards the establishment with bright red lettering and he has to squint between the closed blinds on the front floor-to-ceiling windows to see the glow of Yixing’s laptop illuminating the latter’s face. Yixing is seated at the bar counter with a pen in hand, chewing on the end like he did in high school. The model presses his nose against the front window, a smile forming as he stares at Yixing, his face less round that he remembered from high school, jawline sharp, torso slender. Yifan shivers when his fingers press against cold window surface, but warmth manages to flood through his chest all the same.

His first knock doesn’t draw any reaction from Yixing but his second results in the latter calling out a muffled “We’re closed!” from behind the glass. Yifan frowns at the fact the Yixing doesn’t even bother to look up from his work and he knocks again, more urgently, yielding the same result. It’s on the fifth attempt that Yixing’s shoulders heave in a heavy sigh, “Can someone  _ please _ go find out what they want?” he yells into the nearly empty restaurant and Yifan can hear his irritation even through the glass.

The waiter who was cleaning tables and inverting the chairs on top of them scurries to the front door where Yifan waits for him. “Can I help you, sir?” he asks, cracking the door open only a crack and pointing at the hanging sign that reads ‘ _ Closed _ ’.

Yifan recognizes his greeter as the bartender that allowed him a moment of refuge behind the bar counter. “Baekhyun, right?” Yifan starts, smiling winningly, “I just need to come in to talk to Yixing. Just tell him it’s Wu Yifan?” He points behind Baekhyun at Yixing who is still bent over his laptop, pen between teeth and fingers typing furiously that stop only for a second when Baekhyun hollers behind him that it’s ‘some guy named Wu Yifan’.

“Just send him home,” is the response Yifan hears Yixing call out and his heart sinks even as he reminds himself that he should’ve expected this; he certainly deserves it.

Beakhyun turns to face Yifan again, “I’m sorry, but we’re closed now,” he explains, pointing at the hanging sign on the door again, “You can come back tomorrow though. We open at 11am on Saturdays. Either that or you’ll have to wait for Boss to be done,” he adds, accompanied with an apologetic shrug before he closes and locks the door again.

Yifan doesn’t know how long he’s been pacing outside the restaurant door before the snow starts to fall. He curses his luck and pulls his scarf up past his nose, shoving his hands as deep as they will go into his pockets, wishing he’d had the foresight to grab a hat and gloves when he left his apartment earlier. The handles of the gift bag keep sliding down his arm and digging into his wrist and he has to switch which side he sets it on numerous times as he starts hopping on the stop to try to keep his muscles warm.

By the time Yifan finally catches Yixing getting up from his stool to grab his jacket off the wall and stow his laptop in his bag before shouldering it, Yifan has his shoulders to his cheeks, teeth chattering as he shivers from head to toe. Yifan has the fleeting thought that Yixing has his head down the entire way from the bar to the front door in an effort to avoid the model but he’s glad to be wrong when Yixing when he pushes open the door and jumps back a couple steps in surprise when he finally sees Yifan. A crease forms in his forehead but he only rolls his eyes before he turns around to find the right key for the lock on the closing door.

“I just want to t-talk,” Yifan starts, trying to contain the chattering in his teeth as he looks down to the bag hanging off his wrist, “And to give you something,” he amends.

“Don’t care,” Yixing answers, letting out a curse when his keys fall into the freshly fallen snow at his feet.

Yifan bends over to grab the keys first, “Just f-five m-minutes,” he presses, folding his fingers around the ring and shoving his hand back into his pocket, keeping them hidden from Yixing. The steel feels hard in his hand but he can hardly feel the cold any more.

“Not interested,” Yixing answers, snippy as he holds his hand out. He holds his gaze steady with Yifan, waiting patiently.

Yixing is stubborn, Yifan remembers it well; the last time the two had gotten into a fight was on the high school’s running track and Yixing had rathered stand in the rain for an hour than to concede defeat to Yifan. The model sighs with defeat, not particularly fond of the idea of standing in the snow for another couple of hours. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and presses the metal back into Yixing’s.

The action seems to finally get a reaction from Yixing who frowns and reaches for Yifan’s retreating hand, “You’re an icicle, how long have you been standing out here?” he mutters, rubbing Yifan’s hand between both of his for a moment before he clears his throat loudly and releases the model’s hand in a hurry. “Go home, Yifan,” he grumbles as he finally finds the right key and inserts it in the lock.

“F-Five minutes, that’s a-all I’m a-asking,” Yifan tries a last time as the door clicks, holding his breath as he waits for a reply and letting it go with relief when Yixing finally seems to cave, turning the key in the opposite direction so that there’s another click again.

“Five minutes,” Yixing repeats, pulling the door open and holding it open behind him for Yifan to follow. He leads Yifan through the dark to a couch before disappearing for a moment to get the lights. Yifan kicks his shoes off and deposits them carefully on the floor in front of him, next to the gift bag. He tucks his feet under himself as he brings his hands to his lips to blow on, his warm breath tingly across his skin as he rubs the two together. “What do you want?” Yixing asks when he returns, arms crossed in front of him, standing above Yifan.

“I…” Yifan starts, mind blank as he focuses on warming himself up; he should’ve thought this through a little better. “I’m sorry,” he manages to stutter out through chattering teeth.

Yixing studies Yifan, expression hard for a moment before Yifan sneezes and a flurry of snow sprinkles in front of him from his hair. With a sigh, Yixing unfolds his arms and sweeps through Yifan’s hair to brush away the remaining flakes. “Fifteen years and that’s all you have to say?”

“I’m sorry?” Yifan repeats, glancing up through his hair at Yixing, who grabs a chair off the nearest table and sets it down in front of Yifan.

“Yeah, you already said that,” Yixing answers as he peels off his own jacket to offer to Yifan before settling into the chair.

Yifan pauses as he chooses his next words before deciding that anything he might say now is certainly better than the silence. “I shouldn’t have said ‘I don’t know’ that night,” he blurts out, eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have left things the way they were, I-” he stops, taking a deep breath, “I was stupid. I was still trying to keep Kris a secret and... I didn’t know… about me... and there was that kiss…” he trails, looking up at Yixing, finally meeting his eye for a brief moment before he turns away abruptly again.

“You broke my favourite camera,” Yixing grumbles after a long minute, and Yifan catches him folding his arms across his chest in his periphery.

“I’m sorry about that too,” the model swallows hard as he reaches his arms through the sleeves of Yixing’s jacket to pick up the bag on the floor, “Uhm, I was supposed to give this to you after… that night… but I chickened out…” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks warm up (though he’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with the restaurant’s heating) as he holds out the gift. He catches Yixing shoot him a confused expression and Yifan turns away again, chin dipping into his scarf again.

He’s relieved when the weight in his hand is removed and he pulls it back to himself, tucking it into the cloth of Yixing’s jacket and pulling it into his chest; he tries to ignore how the younger’s scent off the garment has already surrounded him like a warm blanket.

“What’s this?” Yixing asks and Yifan watches the former pull out a faded and unopened box in anticipation, hugging his knees up into his chest, toes curling in his socks.

“It’s…” Yixing starts, turning the box over in his hand a couple times before looking up at Yifan.

“It’s an exact copy,” the model mumbles, “I’m pretty sure anyway. I mean it’s not the newest model  _ right now _ ...” He chances a glance up at Yixing for a reaction, a nervous flutter in his chest when he finds a slight upwards quirk to the other’s lips.

“And this?” Yixing asks, setting down the box on the table beside hims as he pulls out a ratty folder and flips it open. Yifan doesn’t answer this time, just watches Yixing’s face as he goes through the pictures, “These are… I left them at your house… You kept them?”

Yifan swallowed, unsure if he should explain that the majority of them had been strewn across his floors in varying states of distress when he’d come to the morning after the party. It’d taken him hours to get them in semi-decent order, many with ugly creases through them. “I thought you might want them back. I’m sorry they're in such a sorry state.”

“Why would I want pictures of a traitor?” Yixing snaps and Yixing flinches at the tone.

“R-right. That, that was stupid of me,” Yifan mutters before reaching for the folder to take back only to have Yixing pull it out of reach.

“Still mine, though,” Yixing says and Yifan can almost swear he can see a smile on the former’s face in this dim lighting as he puts down the folder next to the camera box and reaches into the bag a last time for the rolls of film sitting at the bottom. “Really? What am I supposed to do with  _ film _ ?”

The model winces, pulling his knees in closer to his chest.

Yixing sighs heavily before setting the cartridge down and nudging the bag to the floor before picking up the camera box again. Yifan watches as the other struggles a moment with the packaging before pulling the device from its confines, letting the box fall the floor too. He fumbles with unpracticed fingers trying to get the cover open and then the film in place but eventually, there’s the soft hum of the camera accepting the load.

Somehow though, Yixing is  _ laughing _ as he brings the window to his eye and Yifan can breathe again, his own lips curving upwards as he watches the childlike glee across Yixing’s face, as if playing with a new toy for the first time. There’s a click and then the soft whir of rotating gears inside the camera and another amused laugh erupts from Yixing, “Where the hell did you even find this? It’s an antique!”

“I got it the day after yours was destroyed. I just never managed to get it to you… I was…” Yifan started to explain, pausing as he tried to find the proper words to explain his state of mind that day.

“You were being an idiot teenager,” Yixing supplied, holding the camera to his face again, wide grin on his lips as he captures Yifan on silver.

Yifan looks up sharply, “Y-yeah, I suppose that’s one way to put it,” he answers uneasily, unsure of how to take Yixing’s tone; was that a  _ joke _ that he just made?

Yixing sighs as he caps the lens and puts it down on the table on top of the wrinkled folder. “Look,” he starts, “You want know something?” he asks, voice soft, but doesn’t wait for a reply before he continues, “I forgave you a long time ago, like I said, ‘idiot teenagers’. But when I saw you today and you didn’t even recognize me, all the feelings I had that night came rushing back, and I need you understand just how hurt I was,” he paused, looking to Yifan who nodded for him to continue. “I  _ needed _ you that night, and you  _ left _ me without any explanation. And then you went off to some other country a couple days later, and you hadn’t even told me  _ that _ . I just showed up at your house one day and I had to hear it from  _ your mom _ . I mean, we were supposed to be friends and you didn’t even tell me you were  _ leaving the damn country _ .” Yixing stops and holds his gaze so steady with Yifan that the latter is afraid to blink until Yixing lets out a long sigh, eyes dropping to his lap.

“And then you had to go and look all happy in those ads and interviews and whatnot. I realise we were just in high school, and teenagers do stupid shit, but you made me feel like anyone I cared for would eventually leave me and not bat an eye, do you know what that’s like?”

Yifan swallows hard at the way Yixing’s brow furrows and he reaches forward to place his hand tentatively on the other’s, afraid his fingers might still be offensively chilly. When Yixing doesn’t pull away, he folds his fingers around Yixing’s. “I don’t,” he whispers, “But I’m here now, and I promise I’m not going to leave again,” he pauses, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come, “Let me prove to you that I’m not that stupid teenager any more.”

A minute that feels like a lifetime passes before Yixing finally moves in the slightest, his thumb rubbing slowly against Yifan’s, “I missed you,” he breathes, barely audible even in the deathly quiet restaurant as he leans forward and presses his forehead against Yifan’s.

There’s a rush of blood to the model’s face when he hears those words. Fifteen years have passed since he realised he was in love with his best friend and he’s had six boyfriends since the revelation of his preferences, one almost a fiance. Yet the simple action of Yixing leaning his forehead against his own and murmuring those words has his head spinning and his chest pounding. “I missed you too,” he returns, body finally relaxing for the first time since the Christmas party started seven hours ago.

Yixing is smiling when he pulls away, getting out of his seat only to settle into the seat next to Yifan. “You’re still frozen,” he mutters, rubbing Yifan’s hand between his own, alternating between left and right. “How long were you standing out there?!” he asks rhetorically.

“Who’s fault is that?” Yifan tests, hoping that Yixing has forgiven him enough to laugh at the joke, but the latter glowers at him teasingly instead, an equally acceptable reaction for Yifan’s chest to swell again. He grins, unabashed, as he lets Yixing warm his fingers.

“Would it be weird if I asked you out?” Yifan asks after a few minutes, finally pulling his arms out of Yixing’s jacket and setting it on the arm of the couch. “Like on an actual date?”

Yixing looks startled for a moment but then his eyes twinkle as he makes an obvious effort to keep his smile down, “Yes, but do it anyway.”

  
  
  


The rest of the night is spent playing catch up and Yifan doesn’t realise that he’s now been awake for more than twenty four hours until a thin streak of sunlights streams in across the flooring. He yawns, an action that’s mirrored by the man who has his head resting in the model’s lap.

“Holy crap,” Yixing says in alarm, rolling off Yifan and stumbling to get to his feet, reaching for his phone, “What time is it?”

Yifan shrugs, hiding another yawn behind his hand and then getting to his feet for a stretch just as an unfamiliar face steps through the kitchen door.

“Uh… should I come back later?”

A string of expletives slip past Yixing’s lips as he picks up the forgotten gift bag and begins to toss its original contents back in. “This is  _ definitely _ not what it looks like, Minseok,” he explains, tripping as he reaches past Yifan for his jacket. “Just go back and get the coffee going, will you?”

Yifan can’t help but laugh at how Yixing’s face reddens like a tomato when Minseok raises a sceptic eyebrow, clearly not believing his boss, but turning around and stepping back into the kitchen as requested. Yixing hangs his jacket up on its hook, hiding the gift bag behind it as he clears his throat and turns to face Yifan again.

“It’s okay, I’ll see myself out,” Yifan says, pulling his scarf around his neck. “But I’m still holding you to that date you promised me. You owe me a dinner.”

Yixing smiles, “Of course. But maybe change it to a breakfast? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m prebooked for all dinners in the foreseeable future.”

“High maintenance as usual,” Yifan rolls his eyes, catching the plastic tumbler Yixing launches his way. He makes his way to the bar and sets it back on a stack of its siblings. As an afterthought, leans over to press his lips against Yixing’s cheek.

Yixing’s face is a deep shade of red again when Yifan pulls away and the latter laughs when the chef turns away with a pout, “Just get out of here. I have a hungry lunch rush to prepare.”

Yifan shoots him a last grin before throwing his jacket around his shoulders, calling behind him as he heads to the front door, “I’ll see you later, then!”

 


End file.
